Remember
by luvsbitca
Summary: Miss Parker remembers how he smelt.


Title: Remember   
Author: Moonbeam   
Disclaimer: I don't own it, if I did Jarod would have taken Miss Parker with him and they'd be shaggin' by now. Then there would be no show, so I think it's good I don't own it.   
Author's Note: I started this off with a direction in mind and then it just changed on me.   
Author's Note 2:This is my first time in this fandom and I'm really not sure how I'm doing with writing Miss Parker, she's hard to write. I hope I did good and that someone tells me what they thought. Constructive Critism welcome. ****

Remember   
by Moonbeam

I remember the way he smelt more than anything else. I know it's him because I remember from when I was young and we'd sit in the vents and his smell would wrap itself around me. I can't even remember what aftershave my 'father' wore back then but I remember the way he smelt and the way he smiled, and how he used to look at me. 

I throw back the last of the vodka and wish I could stop this train of thought, I wish more than anything that I didn't think about him every night. 

In my dreams, the ones I have sometimes that aren't filled with death or loss, the nicest smell always surrounds me; laundry detergent, soap and something slightly sweet. I didn't even realise that it was there until that first night after Scotland. The smell had changed, in my dreams I could smell deodorant, laundry powder, soap and Pez. Whenever I'm near him now I smell Pez. I hate Pez! 

I need a cigarette, and more vodka. I walk towards the liqueur cabinet and realise with a sneer that so far during my week 'holiday' that I've opened these doors more than the door to my fridge. The bottle of vodka is almost empty but I get one more glass out of it before I throw it in the trash. I don't have any cigarettes, I wish I hadn't quit. 

Maybe some bad TV will help, maybe something will help, maybe I'll stop thinking about Jarod, and I'll drink myself into oblivion. But I know I won't stop thinking of him, and I know that I won't fall asleep until after he calls, or something like sleep. I don't remember much of the last three days, a lot of drinking and sleeping and not much else, but I remember every single word he has said to me this week. Everytime he calls. I dream about them, and I'm always surrounded by the uniquely male smell that is Jarod. 

I don't know why this happened to me, why my life had to be this bad. I see other people sometimes and they look happy, they smile, and they laugh and they don't do it with the fear that what's left of their heart and soul will be ripped out any moment. I want to be those people sometimes. And then I remember two things, two people who would not be in my world if it weren't for the hell that is my life. 

Angelo and Jarod. 

Some people would find those two choices very odd. I hate Jarod because he pulled me back in, dictated me staying here. And Angelo is barely a quarter stack. People would think I'd choose my 'team'. I love Sydney, a much more simple way than I think I've ever loved anyone - he has saved me more than once and more times than he knows, and I respect Broots. But they are not why I would accept this life. 

But Angelo has disappeared. And I can't search for Jarod anymore. 

I see a picture of my mother on the mantle and I just stare at it, I was happy once. Why couldn't I stay happy? I hated that people thought I looked like her. I feared her fate. I began to fear having her qualities, so I buried them, so deep and so far from who I am now that no one could see them. I thought no one knew - but Angelo felt it, felt her inside me everytime he was there. Jarod saw it too once, he looked at me and I saw it, in his eyes that he pitied me. Pitied me and my damned fear. 

That was the day I began to realise I had an option, just one. I can't find Jarod - no, I can find him but I can't bring him in, I can't and I don't know why I ever thought I could. He's smarter than I am … and maybe I don't like the idea of him being in the Centre. I knew even then that I wouldn't do it. I had too many things I had to take care of here. But then, Angelo disappeared - three weeks ago he just wasn't anywhere. We checked his nest, and every duct and room at the facility but he was gone. I haven't heard from him, but that small voice inside of me tells me that he's okay, wherever he is. But I know he's with Jarod and I know there must be a reason; maybe Jarod finally perfected a new serum for him. I hope so. 

Sydney and Broots can look after themselves, they always could. And if Angelo was gone then it was time - finally. 

--- 

Miss Parker stood and made her way towards her mother's room. She used to hate to be compared to her mother, but since Thomas she didn't mind too much anymore, in here it was safe. But she knew she was more like her mother than anyone, maybe even Jarod, knew. 

Opening the bottom draw of the her mother's desk she pulled a small Wicked Witch Pez dispenser out and popped one of the little candies into her mouth before she brought the dispenser to her nose and smelled the sweet scent that had permeated through the plastic. 

Miss Parker left the witch on the desk and left her mother's studio, her finger's running along the painting of the house her mother had stayed when she travelled to France, her favourite place - outside of Ben's chalet. 

When she sat back on her couch she stared down at the phone, waiting for the inevitable call. She didn't have to wait long. As she picked up the phone she let out a deep breath and closed her eyes. 

"What?" 

"Miss Parker." 

"Jarod." 

Silence filled the line for moments, stretching until Miss Parker felt that it was time,   
"Goodbye Jarod." 

She clicked off the phone and reached for the little pill bottle. Putting some in her mouth she washed them down with vodka and stood walking towards her room. She sat down on the corner of her bed and looked around. Checking one last time that all of the letters were there, the top one to Jarod. She laid down and pulled her covers over her, and closed her eyes. 

The End 


End file.
